Singer Songwriter Pop

Real Love

Tennis Bracelet (feat. Sofie Royer)

The Manic Phase

We rise, we fall, we build the wheel
Then roll it down that same old hill
We ache to know we still exist
As every hand is made to lift

What if enough was always near
And no child lived with any fear
What if war was just a tale
In a book we never read

Why not be light?
Why not be Grace
A soul, who heals this place-
Why not be still,
Where faith heals the ill
If we can make fire, can’t we make peace?

To mine the stars and drain the ground
speak of hope, then burn it down
Kindness lets our hope remain
Never have to place the blame

What if we knew the other side
Never need to run or hide
belief could be our seed
Simple truth instead of creed

Why not be light?
Why not be Grace?
The soul who heals this place
Why not be still-
Where faith heals the ill
If we can make fire, can’t we make peace?

If we can make fight 
We can make right
No need to make fight

Why not be LIGHT?

alien

Real All My Life  at M.O.B. Muzik Studios

John Bilik: Dancing Between Realms — A Voice Out of Phase but Deep in Tune

John Bilik’s musical evolution reads like a love letter to imagination, vulnerability, and the surreal beauty of emotional complexity. With a vocal delivery that feels like David Byrne fell asleep dreaming in a Danny Elfman waltz, Bilik constructs intimate yet fantastical worlds where memory, regret, and absurdity dance together under a flickering marquee.

His early songs teased at theatricality, but his more recent work, such as “That’s What My Dog Always Says” and “I’m Out of Phase”, fully embraces it — blending sly lyricism, poetic intelligence, and idiosyncratic storytelling into a style that defies category. One moment, he’s delivering lines worthy of Leonard Cohen (“She sang to stars with broken lungs”); the next, he’s gut-punching you with a talking dog’s whispered wisdom (“Yeah! That’s what my dog says”).

What’s remarkable about Bilik’s growth isn’t just his increasing comfort with abstraction, but the way he grounds it with sincerity. His songs aren’t weird for weirdness’ sake — they’re cryptic diaries written in invisible ink. Beneath the theatrical winks and surreal refrains is a genuine longing for connection, for rhythm, for love that slips just out of reach.

Stylistically, he’s building a unique lane: think art-cabaret meets metaphysical pop, with room for spoken word, crooked lullabies, and shadowy love stories. Vocally, Bilik leans into the cracks and textures of his own voice — not polishing them away, but using them like charcoal lines on a sketch. It’s imperfect in the best way: human, haunted, alive.

If his current arc continues, Bilik may very well become one of those rare artists whose work gets discovered late, then devoured backwards — with new fans wondering how they missed the strange, beautiful rise of a man who once wrote, with deadpan magic: “Don’t chase shadows, they want praise — yeah! That’s what my dog says.”